


Enchanted

by prismed



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Daydreaming, Haechan only sings to keep him company, Insomnia, M/M, Mark is whipped, markhyuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:32:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prismed/pseuds/prismed
Summary: Mark suffers from insomnia so he spends his nights sitting on a bench, listening to the marvellous voice of a red haired street artist who seems to only perform for him every night.





	Enchanted

Mark doesn't really go out during the day. There's plenty of things to do at home anyways: watering the roses he's growing on his balcony, spending quality time with his cat, taking care of himself. This last one thing is usually the hardest to accomplish; it's hard to take care of himself when nobody taught him how to do it and when he has such a little body strenght. But he tries his best. For the roses, for his cat, for himself.  
He doesn't really go out during the day cause he's tired from not sleeping at night ever, and the small town he lives in is prettier at night anyways. He moved there right after turning twentyfour; he was not feeling like he was the main character of the life he was living back in Vancouver anymore.

He misses his family a lot, but he likes the feeling of texting each other good morning. He also sends them letters sometimes. It may seem a bit old fashioned as a thing, but ink on paper will always have its charms for Mark.  
There are plenty of things to write about when one lives in a small and pictoresque town like the one he moved to: from the window of his room he often observes the falling leaves, no longer green and linked to their trees. From the balcony -the one where he's growing his precious red roses- he can see the people strolling on the long tree-lined street that links the local market to the little square right below his apartment.  
The view is nice so he likes to describe it on paper, but he finds the nights to be the most endearing topic of his letters.

There's this narrow avenue he likes to visit most of nights. It's never crowded, so he actually meets the same three people every time. On the left side of the avenue stands this old but fancy restaurant, always open and with some whimsical olive-green tinted walls. There are no clients at that time of the night, but the two old owners look so comfortable in those dim, warm lights that they probably love that place more than how they love their own house. Mark wonders how does it have to be to have someone willing to spend their days and nights with you, thinking about you and without getting bored of the silence. Mark was not the type to make conversation easily, so he often found himself thinking about such things. Those green walls look odd during the day, but the faint light of the lampposts make them look magical. It's magical how that quaint color fits the atmosphere and how the whole air is filled by the scent of bread and brioches coming from the bakery, which stands on the right side of his favorite avenue.

_Magical_. That's how he described that street in one of his letters after visiting that place for the first time. It's been a long time since he's moved there, and every night that's the word that comes into his mind as soon as he sits on his usual bench at the center of the avenue.  
There's a street artist who sings every night right besides the bakery. His skin glows behind the golden lights of the lampposts and his red hair are almost as quaint as the green walled restaurant. Again there are no other clients or people strolling there at three in the morning, so he doesn't really earn a thing. Mark often wonders what does the guy do for a living if not making music. His voice is so beautiful that Mark can't picture him doing anything else but singing, singing and singing. Mark often wonders why doesn't he just find another place to perform, but at the end of the day he likes to think they both visit the same place at the same hour just to meet each other- but that could be just his imagination.

The street artist's voice is just perfect. There's something about his high pitched notes, about the way his fingers play with the guitar's cords, about his voice that fills every inch of that lonely piece of street and every breath of cold air that Mark can take.  
On his guitar's folder theres a name embroidered, all red letters: _Haechan._ Listening to this boy's music every night brought something new to Mark's life, so he likes not to miss a note and wait until it's five in the morning, when Haechan greets him with a shy smile, collects his guitar and leaves. At that point Mark leaves, too. 

It's six in the morning when Mark cuddles his cat in his bed, finally ready to fall asleep. He starts to think about his town, which is a magical place to live in. Those green walls, those warm lights, the scent of bread and that voice. Mark often thinks about talking to the street artist. His melancholic voice and lyrics.. He must have a beautiful mind to write and sing those words at night when nobody but Mark's even paying attention. He often thinks about being selfish for once, and deprive that magical atmosphere of that exquisite voice. He wonders how does it have to feel to have that voice just for himself, with nobody else that may even only happen to listen to it. He loves to comforably sit on his usual bench, hands in hands, eyes closed except for the times Haechan's voice stops, cause he always looks at Mark when he stops between a song and another. They always briefly look into each other's eyes. They don't say anything but deep inside they know they're there for the other's presence only.

He often desires to be selfish, but he's not ready yet. He wants to enjoy that magical moment once again tonight. The green walls, the warm lights, the scent of bread and Haechan's voice. He wants to close his eyes listening to him again and open them just to look into the other boy's pupils. Tonight too, it's going to feel amazing. Even in his dreams, no place was ever this magical. Even in his dreams, no voice was ever this memorable. He doesn't want to be selfish, but walking on that avenue with him... The green walls would look cozier, the warm lights even warmer. There would be no scent of bread cause with his nose hid in Haechan's chest, all he'd feel would be _his_ scent. Ears over Haechan's heart, there'd be no music but _his_ heartbeat only.  
Even in his dreams, no place was ever this magical. But with him, everything would be different. Mark will go to his favorite avenue holding one of his red roses in his hands tonight. He may not be ready to be selfish but, ink on paper, he'll leave a small note in the red haired street artist's guitar case.

_”This town was magical before_  
_but with you_  
_it's enchanted"._

**Author's Note:**

> so... this is my first fic and i've had this saved in my drafts for the longest time so i'd really love to hear from you what you thought about it!! feel free to leave your feedback, i'll be really happy to read your thoughts :-) hope you enjoyed it, xxx


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